


Something Desired As Essential

by ununoriginal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-12
Updated: 2002-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununoriginal/pseuds/ununoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a hard road back to Hogwarts for Lupin, and an even harder one to Snape's heart. Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Well, it’s a most peculiar feeling, like sunburn in the evening,_   
_The dark clouds on their way…_   
_\---- “Don’t Need The Sunshine”, Catatonia_

_***  
  
_ It wasn’t as explosive, or dramatic, as he had thought it would be. He had assumed that their reunion, of sorts, would have garnered more a reaction from the other man.  
  
For some reason, his legs had acquired a mind of their own and he’d found himself descending into the cold, dank depths of the dungeons, not long after he’d exchanged the necessary greetings with Dumbledore, and Filch had showed him his room. The place hadn’t changed much, still gloomy, the chill that never went away permeating the walls and the very air in the granite corridors, seeping into his lungs with every breath. He shivered involuntarily.  
  
He hadn’t really come across this part of Hogwarts before, but the Marauder’s Map imprinted in his mind told him this was where he would be: the room that had housed the Heads of the Serpent House for hundreds of years, since Salazar Slytherin himself.  
  
The door wasn’t completely shut, leaving a hairline crack that widened as he slowly pushed the door open, hoping to catch a glimpse of the occupant within before he realised he had a visitor. The creak of the hinges, loyal to the room’s owner, gave him away. He was greeted with the sight of the black head snapping up from his work at his desk, and the equally dark eyes widening fractionally.  
  
 _He’s grown old,_ was the first thought that came to him. Despite the hair maintaining its raven sheen, he could detect the changes, the signs of forced aging. His enhanced eyesight picked out the fine lines and dark circles, and the semi-exhausted cast in the features, the skin that had never looked too healthy to begin with. His posture and bearing were still proud, arrogant, but something… essential, it seemed, had been weathered away. He’d changed, yet not. The years had honed his appearance, stripping away the frills. They had removed the boy, the preoccupations that came with youth, leaving behind just the essence that was Severus Snape.  
  
It made his heart ache, standing here looking at him gazing back, just like it had all those years ago.  
  
Finally Snape deigned to speak to him. “It’s you.” He had never been one for words, and after what had happened back then, the dealings between them had grown even more meagre.  
  
“Hello, Severus. It’s been a long time.” He wished Snape would say his name. He missed the way the syllables rolled off the other man’s tongue, rich and velvety dark, eliciting secret tremors in parts deep within.  
  
“Has it? I never realised.” That part of the Slytherin hadn’t changed, at least. Still ungiving, reserved, aloof. He closed his eyes as the accustomed pain washed over him – pain at the remembrance of intimacy, softly spoken endearments, whispered caresses that had become nothing but faded memories.  
  
“Yes, it has. I’ve missed you, Severus.” He didn’t overlook the slight clenching of Snape’s hand around the quill. _/Two can play at this game./_ He knew how to get to the Potions Master, just as the other was aware of his own weaknesses.  
  
“You must be another one of Dumbledore’s charity cases, no doubt.” His tone was dismissive, as if he’d lost interest in whatever they had been saying and was eager to get back to his work. But it was evident to both of them that it was a step back, a retreat.  
  
“It was very kind of Headmaster Dumbledore to offer me the position. My situation was getting rather… untenable,” he replied mildly, not rising to the bait. He could be gracious in his victory. Besides, he wasn’t too keen to share the details of his life before his arrival at Hogwarts.  
  
Snape made a non-committal sound, but it was clear that the conversation, farce that it was, had ended.  
  
But he hadn’t yet accomplished what he had come for. “Severus.”  
  
The sallow face glanced back up, the black depths flashing with impatience. “Yes?”  
  
 _/Say my name. At least once. Can’t I even have that to savour and hold?/_ “It’s been years, Severus. I hope… that we can both put whatever has happened behind us. I would really like the two of us to at least have a decent… working relationship.”  
  
Snape’s face had taken on that shuttered look he’d always hated. The man had impassiveness refined to an art. Then there was a flicker of something as he stood up and came around the desk.  
  
He hardly dared breathe as Snape approached, then brushed past so near the folds of their robes tangled in a warped pretence at intimacy. Snape paused, one hand on the door. His expression seemed almost regretful. “Forgive me, Remus. I’m not sure if that is something I can promise.” He inclined his head slightly before walking out. “I’ll see you in the dining hall.”  
  
Lupin sank down into the chair he’d refused to sit in the entire time he’d been talking to the other man. He clutched the armrests with trembling fingers as he leaned back, staring blankly at the cracks that spread, met, and separated again across the stone ceiling of the dungeon room.  
  
He had said his name, and it was just as gloriously beautiful as he remembered it.  
  
It was just as heart-breaking.


	2. Chapter 2

_And you think it’s most unlikely, life could ever shine this brightly,_   
_Once the sun is gone, and the pressure’s on,_   
_And the rain is here again…_

_***  
  
_ It was now or never, he decided. He’d mulled and agonised over the idea for days, turned it inside out, picked it up and rattled it, upended it to see if anything came out. But no conclusion could be reached unless he just screwed up his courage and out and out asked him.  
  
He had finally made up his mind, and now his brain would not let him forget about it, popping little reminders throughout his tutoring lesson with Harry. He felt a little apologetic towards the boy – he wasn’t the best of instructors this day. His thoughts, coupled with his constant monitoring of the background sounds in the corridor outside the room – it was around the time of day when he would be coming around with the potion – had conspired to make him distracted enough that he’d actually praised Harry for creating that blob of grey currently trailing from the end of the young Gryffindor’s wand.  
  
James’ son was giving him an odd look mixed with concern. “Professor Lupin, are you feeling well?”  
  
 _/Interesting question, Harry. I ask that one of myself far too often. I don’t think I’ve been well for a very long time./_ Shrugging off the morose thought, he made the necessary platitudes, drawing the boy back to spell-casting before he could probe any further. He didn’t want to worry the black-haired child, so much like James that his heart twisted when he gazed at him. The boy was too inquisitive for his own good, much like the Marauders of old; and he knew that Harry was already suspicious of a certain Slytherin Potions Master, and his intentions towards the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The last thing he wanted to achieve was to drive in further the wedge of animosity between these two people who were both so important to him, yet in such different ways.  
  
The flutter of relief that went through him as his acute hearing picked up the swish of robes accompanying swift footsteps was soon replaced by the customary nervous knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He missed those days when emotions associated with the one rapidly approaching the door to the classroom were more of a, if not truly happy, at least a more hopeful sort.  
  
“I think we’ll just end here today, Harry.” He smiled encouragingly at the boy’s rather despondent expression. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. The Patronus charm is very high-level magic, even for many who have long graduated from Hogwarts. It’ll take more time for you to grasp it well, but I have no doubt you’ll be able to,” he reassured the boy. “You have plenty of talent for this.”  
  
“He may have excessive capabilities in foolish wand-waving and all its theatrics, but there’s patently none when it comes to Potions.” The dry voice coming from behind them effectively doused the tender atmosphere budding between them, and Lupin felt a flash of annoyance at the culprit, until he turned back to meet the other’s gaze and thought he could discern the barest hint of amusement in them.  
  
The undercurrents, unfortunately, ran too deep for a thirteen-year-old to understand. Lupin could see Harry’s fists curl angrily, and the green eyes that were a mirror of his mother’s beginning to blaze in righteous indignation.  
  
“Harry, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” Sending the boy off would be the best way to defuse the situation.  
  
Snape moved aside as Harry grabbed his belongings and left the room, but not without one last resentful glare over his shoulder at the Slytherin professor. Seemingly oblivious, the raven-haired man set the steaming goblet of wolfsbane potion on Lupin’s desk.  
  
Knowing that Snape had a tendency not to leave until he saw the potion completely ingested, Lupin ignored the concoction for the moment. “Why do you taunt him like that when you don’t really mean it?” He internally winced as the question came out. He could have phrased it better.  
  
Snape remained surprisingly undefensive. He merely stared back at the other man with a raised eyebrow. “Oh? And how would you know whether I mean it or not?”  
  
Lupin could feel his fingers begin to clench as he struggled for control. The dark, penetrating gaze still had the same chaotic effect on his insides. It seemed that a decade and a half was still insufficient to wipe away its devastation. “I—I can see it in your eyes.”  
  
The Slytherin remained expressionless, but he crossed his arms as he looked away. “I wonder why you presume you know me just because we once went to school together, so very long ago. People change, Professor Lupin.”  
  
 _/Yes, but there are always parts of one that remain fundamentally the same./_ Still, he didn’t feel like continuing the argument as a wave of exhaustion came over him. He closed his eyes, willing it to pass, and re-opened his eyes a moment later to see Snape gazing intently at him.  
  
“You seem almost abnormally drained,” he commented reluctantly. “Is the wolfsbane taking more out of you than expected?”  
  
“I’m not sure… possibly.” Lupin seized the opportunity that been unexpectedly presented. “I was meaning to ask you about it. The change is always demanding, but after I began taking the potion, the change seems to sap even more of my energy than it normally would.”  
  
Snape’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “This is puzzling. I am certain I made no mistake while I was brewing this.”  
  
“I believe most texts neglect to mention that there might be individual side-effects unique to each lycanthrope,” Lupin remarked, careful to keep his tone casual and detached. “Maybe if you… observed the Change itself, you could determine which aspects of the potion may need some modification.”  
  
There, he’d said it, extended the invitation. All he had to do now was wait and see. If he was right, if what the primal instinct that pounded through his blood with every heartbeat rang true, then Snape would…  
  
He mercilessly quashed his conscience squeaking that he was merely luring the other man to his rooms under false pretences. Something else was working here, beyond the effects of the wolfsbane, and Lupin was beginning to suspect he knew what it would be.  
  
He just needed Snape to help him prove it. _/And then what? What are you going to_ do _about it? What, if anything, do you think he will do?/_ Lupin mentally grabbed the little voice and slammed it behind a door named ‘denial’. He fixed his attention back on the forbidding figure of the former love-of-his-life.  
  
Snape had stilled at his last words. “You want me… to be there when you Change.” A simple statement on the surface, overlying years of hate, grief and tragedy.  
  
“I would never hurt you, Severus,” Lupin replied just as softly.  
  
The ensuing silence stretched, screaming to its breaking point. Finally Snape moved, shaking his head. “Fine words, Lupin. Fine words indeed.” He headed for the door. “Take the potion. I’ll look for you in your rooms after dinner.” And with a flaring of dark cloth, he was gone.  
  
Lupin turned towards the goblet of grey liquid on his desk, still wafting mist. Quickly, he raised it to his mouth and consumed it in one continuous breath.  
  
It didn’t taste half as bad as he remembered it.


	3. Chapter 3

_But you don’t need the sunshine, you don’t need the good times_   
_Don’t need anything anyone’s giving;_   
_And I don’t mind your lies, so keep on talking…_

_***  
  
_ It was a common assumption by most that when individuals afflicted with lycanthropy undergo their transformation, they totally become that hideous creature their flesh and bone have morphed into. That was why so many experience that terrible guilt which wracks their souls when they revert to human form, because under that other sinister guise, they were nothing but mindless monsters, unknowing of what they did under the call of the moon.  
  
What the world didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, was Lupin’s belief on this particular issue. Especially if Severus Snape was to be part of that population possessing this erroneous supposition. Lupin was realistic enough to acknowledge that the other man wouldn’t approach a hundred feet of his room if he actually knew that even as a werewolf, a part of him still remained sentient enough that he could recall the events leading to the two of them being ensconced together in Lupin’s rather sparsely decorated room. That apart from the bloodlust inevitably suffusing his entire being, he could still experience the tentative excitement at Snape’s agreement to be here, the ever-present nervous tension at the Slytherin’s proximity. That after enduring the bone-wrenching agony of the Change, he still retained the faculties to be aware that once he’d sprouted fur and claws, Snape had warily backed away towards the door of the room, visibly letting down his guard.  
  
Normally, this human part of him was subsumed by the animal instincts invading him, but age and the wolfsbane had curbed it, keeping the beast at bay, and widening the window through which the man could struggle through.  
  
He savoured the conflicting emotions flitting across the other man’s sallow, oft-impassive features as he slowly advanced upon him. The tinge of fear, that desire to just escape and hide, and sweetest of all, the palest shade of yearning accompanied by anguished confusion. It was exquisite beyond belief.  
  
It had been far too long, five thousand days and more, since he had witnessed something further than the indefinable flicker of emotion in Snape’s eyes. He had to remember it, to burn it upon his memory. It would help him through the coming nights and days when he would have to content himself with expressionlessness again.  
  
A couple of swift lopes put himself between the doorway and the startled man, and Snape changed direction, forced to retreat elsewhere instead. He followed closely, manipulating and herding the black-haired man until finally, he ended up falling, slightly sprawled, against the corner of the long couch by the fireplace, one of the few meagre furnishings within the room.  
  
The werewolf sprang onto the couch before Snape had a chance to move, resting his front paws and head upon the other’s lap. Snape froze, and Lupin could sense the tension thrumming through the Slytherin’s lean frame. He burrowed his head deeper, nuzzling Snape’s body through his robes, inhaling the unique herbal scent threaded through with caffeine that always clung to him, triggering old memories of days long gone. The restlessness that had always plagued and drained him after he transformed had vanished, now that his long-lost mate was finally with him, and he ignored the hollow voice that insisted it was merely a desperate illusion.  
  
They were together now. Even if it was in this manner. And it was enough. It had to be.  
  
His keen sense of hearing picked up a soft, unhappy whining, and he suddenly realised he was the only one who could have produced it.  
  
Then he felt it.  
  
There was a cool pressure on his head, and he felt long, slim fingers run through the coarse fur at the crown of his head, before settling to gently stroke and play with the finer hairs at his neck.  
  
He hadn’t realised how he’d needed this all his life.  
  
***  
  
 _Everything was quiet except for the occasional rustle of night breeze through clothing. They sat upon the ground, back-to-chest, one in the other’s arms as they gazed up at the murky black sky. The half-moon peeked out behind travelling clouds, seeming to whisper of untold secrets.  
  
“Severus?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
He curled warm fingers around the other’s cooler ones, interlacing them as he snuggled deeper into his lover’s embrace.  
  
“Please remember, no matter what happens, I love you.”  
  
He felt the tightening of the arms around his slender body, and he closed his eyes, concentrating the safeness and security the movement inspired.  
  
Minutes passed before he heard the whisper-soft reply. “I…”  
  
But the wind picked up unexpectedly, drawing the sounds away before they could reach his ears. The clouds drew together, obscuring the moon. And he was left grasping again for things said but not heard, as the night sky fell into darkness._  
  
  
***  
  
Lupin blinked his eyes lazily, trying to force the heavy lids open as the world around him gradually reformed itself. He waited for the customary wave of exhaustion and despair that always washed over him when he regained human form, but nothing came. Instead it seemed like he was suffused with a terrifying contentment, wrapped in a sense of security he hadn’t experienced for so long that it felt new. The only thing that filled his mind was the melancholic, wistful dream that he’d been pulled from as the reversal of the Change jerked him from slumber.  
  
He fidgeted slightly, restlessness beginning to creep over him once more, and wished that he was back in that dream world, where there was nothing but him and Snape and the endless half-moon. But the movement of the warm pillow upon which his head was cushioned froze him, and he became aware of the unforgettable scent of the person he was lying on surrounding him.  
  
Cautiously, he lifted his head and peered up at the other man. Thankfully, he was still sleeping, the disturbance from Lupin’s shifting not disruptive enough to rouse him. Snape’s head was resting against the armrest of the couch. Sometime during the night, they seemed to have rearranged themselves, and Lupin was now half on top of Snape, covering him like a living, werewolf blanket. He barely repressed a shiver from the thrill as he realised that Snape’s left arm was the comforting weight resting on his waist.  
  
He gazed at the dark-haired man, running his eyes intently over every feature, attempting to memorise him in the only way he was allowed to. Snape’s expression had relaxed in his sleep, but the pallor of exhaustion cast an impression of age on him that was beyond his actual years. Lupin felt the twist in his heart and repressed the urge to run his fingers along the curve of that pale cheek, a sure-fire of waking the other up.  
  
He wondered about the burdens concealed behind the forbidding façade, wishing he could be privy to them as he’d once been – he’d heard vague rumours that Snape had been a spy among the Deatheaters, playing an instrumental role in the first defeat of Voldemort, but he had been far away then, trying to escape the despair that had become a part of his life. By the time he had returned to this part of the globe, the wizarding world was well into its lull before the return of the Dark Lord, and few were inclined to discuss the events of a few years past.  
  
 _/I wish I knew your secrets again…/_  
  
Dumbledore would know. Lupin had found upon his arrival at Hogwarts that the Headmaster had become Snape’s confidante, the only one who could truly influence Snape’s actions. If not for Dumbledore’s intervention, he wouldn’t even have gotten those precious moments before every full moon when Snape would bring the wolfsbane to his office and they spent those few excruciating minutes alone.  
  
Lupin felt a pang of jealousy at Dumbledore surge through him. _/I used to be the only one who knew him so! The one he would turn to. But then I…/_ The anger faded away as harsher recollections made themselves known.  
  
Just as carefully as before, he laid his head back down upon Snape’s chest, concentrating on the heartbeat under his cheek and willing his own to match the other’s. He closed his eyes and clutched the soft material of Snape’s dark robes. At least he was here now. Back in the only arms he had ever wanted to be in.  
  
It wasn’t really full circle, not yet, but at this moment, it felt more than enough.


	4. Chapter 4

_And do you find the change in season affects you without reason,_   
_You’ve greetings, but nothing more to say._   
_And you swear you’ll feel much better, if only summer lasts forever,_   
_But the sky is clear, and you’re nowhere near,_   
_And the rain is here again…_

_***  
  
_ It was a realisation he had gradually developed over the years through bitter experience. His life would probably never be a smooth-sailing one. It might seem calm, peaceful, worthy of the word “content” for a while, even “happy” or “joyful”, but then one day, the lull would abruptly be over, and it would all come tumbling down. He had briefly wondered if it could have been a self-fulfilling prophecy, one that would have been broken if he stopped believing in it, but he had never managed to garner sufficient hope to try. He could only brace himself for the fallout, and pray that it wouldn’t hurt so much this time round.  
  
It never seemed to work, though. Maybe prayers weren’t meant for werewolves.  
  
Part of him had been on tenterhooks ever since he’d returned to Hogwarts. A stroke of luck so wide as to have landed him the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor would have warranted something remarkably terrible occurring in return. But nothing truly bad befell him, as yet. His meetings with Snape didn’t count, for he craved them as much as they tormented him afterwards.  
  
And then one morning, he woke up in Snape’s arms.  
  
  
***  
  
  
He raised his head in startlement, and a burgeoning sense of reverse deja-vu as the door to his room slammed open and a black-robed figure surged through to stop in front of his desk, glaring furiously. He remained in shock for a few seconds more, blinking at Snape. The other man rarely approached his quarters, outside of delivering the wolfsbane potion, and it had worsened ever since three days ago, when Snape had awoken to discover his compromising position.  
  
He had nearly flung Lupin from him as he had registered his situation, swiftly storming from the room. His act of revulsion would have been completely convincing, had it not been that split-second flicker of inexplicable relief in his eyes when they had first opened. If Lupin had not been gazing at his face so intently, he would have missed it.  
  
Lupin clung to the thought of that look, as well as the memories of the night. It was all he had to keep himself from succumbing to despair. The meagre signs which gave evidence that Snape, for all his seeming aloofness, was not an unbreachable citadel.  
  
Furthermore, he’d managed to prove the theories niggling in his mind to himself. He now knew, with a deep-seated conviction, that the man standing before him was his mate, in the eyes of both the man and the beast that resided within him. With his merest touch, Snape stilled the raging furor that had been an ever-present companion from the fateful day he’d been bitten. Within the Slytherin’s embrace, he experienced contentment and security beyond anything else he had ever known. It felt like home, tugging at him with its siren call.  
  
Moreover, he could sense that he played no small part in engendering similar emotions of calmness and peace surrounding Snape that night as well. Now all he had left to do was to make the other realise the strength and beauty of what they could have together.  
  
Cruel memories from the past rose unwelcome within his mind to taunt him at the enormity of his task.  
  
He had believed it couldn’t possibly get any harder, until Snape finally spoke, nearly spitting the words in his anger.  
  
“Sirius Black is in Hogwarts.”  
  
Once more, he found himself unable to speak as seconds passed by. Finally, he managed to eke out, “W-what?”  
  
“Your good friend, Sirius Black, otherwise known as Padfoot, one of the creators of the Marauders’ Map—”  
  
“Yes, I know that!” he nearly snapped in agitation. “I mean – no, that can’t be, he’s in Azkaban. How could he possibly escape?”  
  
“I wouldn’t presume to guess, but I imagine with the deviousness that comes to him so naturally, the deed wouldn’t have been insurmountable.” Biting sarcasm dripped off the sentence.  
  
“But… why is he here in Hogwarts?” Long-buried emotions were rising within him, bursting through the dams that he’d walled them behind for so long. He recalled the pain and horror of betrayal, the utter disbelief that he’d obstinately held on to, even after the public announcement of Sirius’ guilt. Yes, admittedly, the man could get a little petty at times, even bordering on vindictive, but to his group of friends, he had been always been staunchly loyal.  
  
It was only until he had made his way to Godric’s Hollow and forced himself to take in the ruined remnants of James’ and Lily’s home that he had finally accepted it. His heart twisted all the more at the recollection of how wonderful it had been to be a part of the four.  
  
“Oh? You mean to say you do not possess the answer?” The insinuating tone brought Lupin back to the present, and he stiffened as the accusation made its impact.  
  
“What are you trying to imply, Snape?” Irritation was making his voice cool.  
  
Snape’s dark, probing gaze speared him, but he held firm, the anger intensifying inside providing a thankful buffer to the look that would have ordinarily crumbled his defences. He’d made numerous concessions to the Potions Master, from the very first day he’d once again stepped into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, and almost always, he’d conceded willingly.  
  
This was not one of those times.  
  
“It’s so obvious even one of those logheads we term First Years could figure it out if they had the facts. Black has no close family, and the people with whom he spent the most time with, the ones he apparently trusted the most before his imprisonment, were his friends, for all the good it did them.” Lupin’s eyes narrowed dangerously at that last remark. “And now that he’s escaped, chances are that the first person he would look for would be the surviving member of the Marauders of old, wouldn’t it?”  
  
He was on his feet by the time Snape had finished, drawing up to his full height, which was still regrettably two inches shorter than the towering figure of the Slytherin. Outrage sent tremors through his fingers, and he clenched them tightly to keep them from movement.  
  
“How dare you suggest that after all the things he did, all the atrocities he committed, that I would even consider harbouring him?!” Distantly, he realised that he had never raised his voice to the other man before, not even when they had broken up so many years ago. “Sirius Black stopped being my friend a long time ago, the day he betrayed those who trusted their very lives with him, in the name of Voldemort.”  
  
He felt a flicker of vicarious pleasure skim along his spine at the slightly taken aback expression upon the black-haired man’s features. Maybe this was the way to get through to him. All the patient waiting, enduring the agony of rejection and being ignored, had done nothing. But perhaps with direct confrontation, he would have a chance.  
  
“Be that as it may, it still doesn’t erase what you had between you before…” Snape replied softly, as if he was speaking more to himself than Lupin. Trailing off, he seemed to realise what he had been saying, and the shutters slammed down, his expression becoming closed.  
  
“True, but,” Lupin paused, feeling the anger drain from him as he felt the direction of their exchange veer into intimate, and infinitely more dangerous territory, “that doesn’t necessarily stop us from doing what we have to do, does it? Even if it means hurting someone else in the process.”  
  
For a moment, time seemed to still as their gazes locked and battled. Lupin took the chance to pour everything he felt and urgently wanted to convey into that look. He could only fervently pray to whatever gods out there who would listen, that the man across the desk from him would understand. The tableau whisked him back across the divide of years, and it was as if they were sixteen all over again, pitting their wills against one another, and the table a mere euphemism for that unseen gulf.  
  
At first it appeared that Snape would be unshakeable, but then something in those obsidian depths flickered. This time, he was the first to look away.  
  
“Stop it!” The words emerged as a half-choked gasp. “Stop it, Lupin, whatever you’re playing at. We’re not children anymore!” It was the most emotion Lupin had ever seen him display, apart from that unforgettable night in his rooms. A tiny part of him rejoiced, despite the knowledge of how much it must have cost the other to have his masks cracking so.  
  
“I’m perfectly serious, Severus.” He skirted the edge of the desk, approaching the tension-ridden figure, coming to a stop two feet away. “And it’s Remus.”  
  
“…What?”  
  
“My name, Severus. That was what you used to call me. It’s been years since I last heard it from your lips.”  
  
Indescribable emotions coloured Snape’s features as he gazed at Lupin for what felt like eons, before finally speaking. His voice was steady once more, and even now, at this time and situation, Lupin couldn’t help but savour the richness of it, directed solely at him. “If I agree to say it, will it make you stop this charade?”  
  
Something surged through him at the Potion Master’s words. Something primal, raw, coming as much from the wolf as from the man. It goaded him into action, driving him onwards. He took the final three steps to close the distance between the two of them, reaching out to grip the thin arms underneath the folds of heavy black cloth. He spun them around and pushed Snape backwards, pinning the lanky frame against the desk.  
  
“No! I will not stop it! If anyone should stop anything, it should be you, Severus! Stop denying this! You can sense as well as I that this is no travesty!” He tightened his hold upon the Slytherin, subtly reminding the other that looks could deceive, and there was more than one form of sentience lurking within his slender form. “There’s a connection between us, Severus. I felt it virtually from the first time we met, and it’s never gone away since. If possible, the years and distance have only intensified it. You call to me, even from impossible miles away.” He dared to release one hand and gently ran it down the elegant curve of Snape’s cheekbone. “You’re my mate, Severus. Just like I’m yours. We’re meant to be together, so why are you denying it?”  
  
At Lupin’s question, Snape, who had frozen still upon being grabbed and manhandled, suddenly came back to life, struggling and jerking out of Lupin’s loosened grasp.  
  
“ _You_! Who are you to speak to me of denial?!” The façade of indifference had completely crumbled away, leaving his face twisted in a bitter sneer of contempt and disdain, overlying something far more delicate and full of grief. “You were the one who denied me first, _Remus_. I never forced you to choose between your friends and I – you made that choice yourself, a long time ago. You trusted those friends of yours with your secret, your life, the nature of your existence in its entirety; but not for one moment, did you deem it essential enough to share it with the one whom you call your mate, the one that’s supposed to be ‘meant’ for you.”  
  
The emphatic scorn coating every single word that poured from Snape’s throat was like a burning dart lancing through his heart. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t summon the words. He moved pleadingly towards the other man, but Snape retreated away from him, eyes wild. “You denied me,” he said softly, inexorably, “over your friends. You denied me, because you believed they were far more trustworthy than I.” His laughter was a short, harsh sound, echoed awkwardly by the cold stone walls of the room.  
  
“Look how everything’s turned out, _Remus_.” The name on his tongue now seemed mocking. It chilled him, reminding him of icy wet nights and alleyways filled with draft. “You might have chosen to forget the choices you made, but I have not. You may have preferred to spend the past fifteen years in denial, but I have not.” He paused, a haunted cast settling over his features.  
  
“I do not run from the truth, ugly as it may be. And I am perfectly aware of the truth, here and now. There is no ‘us’, Professor Lupin.” He turned, striding towards the door.  
  
“And please, never speak to me again of denial.”  
  
The door closed behind him, and the click of the latch falling shut in the absolute silence he left behind was excruciating.


	5. Chapter 5

_Well, I threw away my sunshines, my so-called little lifelines_  
 _Do you know what I mean?_  
 _When I decided that the answer could not be bought across the counter_  
 _My sister dister has left for good_  
 _Now the rain has gone away…_  
  
  
It despised this feeling – this mercilessly sinking sensation of having hit rock bottom, but realising to its horror that it was actually quicksand. It hated it with a passion, a vengeance, fuelled by its inability as a werewolf to understand it.  
  
It was still fundamentally an animal, a beast, and was thus governed primarily by instincts, the basic desires, the id. Either it had a problem, or it didn’t. And if it was cornered, threatened, or faced with a life-or-death situation, it was ‘fight-or-flight’, programmed into every creature, from the greatest dragon to the tiniest ant.  
  
It would not have stood there, feeling itself cut to the quick, infinite pain squeezing his heart, and doing utterly nothing to alleviate it.  
  
If it had terminal control, it would never have let them endure this. But humankind, in their endless evolution towards abstractness and complexity, towards ever higher planes of thought and emotion, had managed to trap themselves. It should have been something infinitely simple – if one’s mate gets recalcitrant, one simply dominates it, and to the victor goes the spoils. Yet that had been turned inside out, and twisted around by its human counterpart, frustrating it to no end. So it raged, rattling the titanium bars within their shared consciousness, demanding an outlet.  
  
But it was not the full moon, and it knew, even as it spent its futile wrath, that above all, the human had control.  
  
  
***  
  
  
He found himself walking deep into the bowels of Hogwarts again, and he could feel himself getting chillier with each step, his skin temperature gradually descending with every second, descending to match the cold of the vice frozen around his heart. It almost seemed as if he had come full circle, and now he was back at the starting point, left with no other choice but to once again trek down the arduous path of the Moebius strip his life had become.  
  
Inside, his lupine alter-ego screamed and shook its cage, before finally subsiding reluctantly, its resentful growling echoing in the recesses of his mind.  
  
He had no idea what to expect, did not know if he had the courage to say what he wanted to say, or if Snape would ever let the words leave his lips. Yet still he moved on, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe… there was just this slightest chance.  
  
It had been how he had managed to convince himself to make it to this day. And it would bring him one day further.  
  
He paused when he reached an intersection, the stone corridors splitting off in three different directions. He knew the one to the right led to the Potions classroom and Snape’s offices, while the middle one would take him to the Slytherin dormitories, a leftover legacy from his Hogwarts days when things were more… amiable, between Snape and himself. That left only… He entered the corridor to the left, following the turns until finally he stood before a carved mahogany door, its panel adorned with etchings of sinuous serpents entwined around each other.  
  
He shivered – it was evident that even at the height of summer, heat would never penetrate this deep – and it seemed that his imagination was trying to convince him that some of the snake eyes upon the door were glittering at him with unsettling sentience. He looked away, unnerved, and wondered for a second what on earth he was doing here.  
  
He had managed to carefully avoid thinking for the past eighteen hours, just functioning on autopilot. The fact that he had not had a wink of sleep in more than thirty-six hours only served to compound the situation. Ever since the discovery that Sirius Black had stolen into Gryffindor Tower and tried to attack one of the students, the entire student body had been shifted to the Great Hall for the rest of the night. Meanwhile, the staff was supposed to patrol the school grounds, in case he decided to show up again.  
  
Thankfully, Sirius had not appeared at all. Lupin had not the slightest inkling of what he would do if the other man had done so – he had just spent most of the time going through the cursory motions of inspecting and warding the areas he had been assigned to.  
  
He had seen no sign of Snape either, another thing for which he was profoundly grateful, though it didn’t explain why he was now standing outside the door to the Potions Master’s private quarters. And yet, inexplicably, standing here now, it felt like his entire being was aching, for even the slightest glimpse of dark hair and cool indifference.  
  
He closed his eyes, and images flashed behind his eyelids – shots of a pale face turned whiter, making the eyes even more impossibly black, and precious emotion spilling across those features, making them so much more animated, life-like… reachable.  
  
Slowly, a trembling fist raised itself to knock twice upon the wood. The sound seemed muffled, as if the granite surrounding him had jealously snatched the noise away even as it was created. He fervently hoped that Snape had heard it, for he didn’t think he had the courage to place his hand on the door all over again.  
  
His breath expelled in a swift gush of relief as the doorknob turned, and he looked up to meet the obsidian orbs that blinked silently when they registered who it was they were gazing at.  
  
For an eternity and a half, they stared at each other across the threshold. The moment stretched out, intensifying with each passing flicker of time.  
  
Until just as slowly, Snape pushed the door gently closed.  
  
Lupin backed away, arm reaching out behind him to steady himself as he slid down to huddle in a shaking heap upon the ground.  
  
  
***  
  
  
He had lost track of how long he had been sitting there before exhaustion finally overtook him, and dropped him into a fatigued, yet restless doze. The cold gradually seeped into his bones, and he unconsciously curled in on himself as he slept, trying to hoard his body’s warmth.  
  
However, eventually, his enhanced senses alerted his slumbering mind of the presence near him and his eyes forced themselves open. He raised his heavy head to see Snape towering over him, framed by the doorway, an inscrutable expression on his face.  
  
Their gazes met and clashed for a second time that night, but it wasn’t the drawn-out battle Lupin had expected. After a moment, the blankness across the Slytherin’s face dissolved, to be replaced by a sheen of infinite weariness. The absent thought came to Lupin’s mind that the man looked almost as tired as he felt.  
  
Stiffly, as if it pained him greatly to do so, Snape turned away, heading back into his room.  
  
He left the door open.


	6. Chapter 6

_Well, I don’t mind the rain, if you would feel the same…_   
_Lean on me, maybe you could see it through,_   
_If you would only believe a single word is true…_

_***  
  
_ It had seemed like a millennia since the wolf had been allowed to run free, unfettered by magic or chemicals, even though, in reality, it had only been for a few short months since his return to Hogwarts. The beast howled in exultation as it raced through the trees, bloodlust coursing through its veins, searching for some unwitting prey to pounce on, though it was unlikely that any creature to be found in the Forbidden Forest would go down that easily. But more than anything, it basked in its freedom, its control, roaring its joy and triumph.  
  
The only thing that could possibly make it even more perfect, would be if the one it had marked as mate was here. But it sensed that the human was in Hogwarts, protected within the stone walls itself, and its animal cunning and survival instinct kept it from veering towards the castle, keeping to the boundaries demarcated by the broad tree trunks.  
  
Instead, it decided to indulge itself in the thrill of the hunt – of what it did not yet know, but it was bound to come across something promising sooner or later in this magical forest.  
  
While it sped through the undergrowth, baying occasionally at the pearl-white eye of the full moon, the consciousness that identified itself as Remus Lupin could only sit back and wait.  
  
And remember.  
  
  
***  
  
  
He could recall many things as the curse upon him took tangible shape. It seemed that he never remembered things as clearly and sharply as when he was forced to retreat deep into his own consciousness – being squashed into the backseat of his brain honed his awareness to a point, even as the inner beast emerged to bare its fangs.  
  
He remembered the Hogwarts library in early spring, several lifetimes ago – the first tentative touches, the wary response, the subsequent yielding. Nights beneath the starlit sky, and whispered declarations carried away upon the wind.  
  
He remembered the Shrieking Shack at the height of midsummer, the night immature spite and cruelty exacted a price that echoed down the years, leaving him perpetually in its debt. The night the wolf found its mate.  
  
The bitter tang of coffee and rejection coloured his memories, mixed with the blood red from a shattered heart. Whose, he wasn’t really sure anymore.  
  
There was the running, the never-ending attempts to escape to ever farther corners of the globe, ever lonelier depths. Fighting against a siren call across the miles of mountain and sea. Finally succumbing, and crawling back to where it had started. To where he had always wanted to be.  
  
He remembered seeing Snape again on that dreary autumn day he stepped into Hogwarts once more. Tracing the other’s features with his eyes as his hands had longed to do. The ache within at the indifference, the apparent distance; and the insidious hope arising from the slightest falter in the dark-haired man’s reserve.  
  
Each painful stumble, every hard-won inch forward was picked up and replayed. Right up until the end of last winter, when the thawing rains had showered upon the earth, melting the Potions Master’s defences along with it.  
  
  
***  
  
  
“What do you want, Remus?”  
  
He had been standing there in the middle of the room for nearly five minutes, not having said a word, eyes merely following Snape as he went about the room, rearranging items, clearing up whatever he had doing prior to Lupin’s interruption.  
  
The question shot at him unexpectedly, accompanied by Snape’s sharp gaze, and he was struck dumb, staring at the man’s exhausted features until he looked away, running a hand through his hair wearily. It appeared that much of the fight had gone out of the Slytherin.  
  
“I…” The tangle of emotion jumbled within him struck in his throat, refusing to be given a voice. He shut his mouth, and moved closer to Snape instead, approaching the armchair the other man had sat down heavily upon. He had never been adept with words, never mastered the art of flaying with the tongue as Snape and Sirius had. His forte had lain with action.  
  
And, he decided, the time for speech had long been past.  
  
He came to a stop in front of Snape and knelt down so he was looking up into the other’s eyes. The dark irises reflected the dancing flames, seemingly hinting at their owner’s internal turmoil.  
  
Slowly, he reached out, arms encircling the thin waist to let his fingers meet and interlock behind Snape’s back. Then he laid his head down upon his lap, the heat emanating from the Potion Master’s body warming his cheek.  
  
It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, but it felt… _right_. And with his body and touch, he tried to convey all that his words could not say. His remorse, his regret, his bitterness and anger, the pain and desperation, but above all, his desire and love.  
  
He learnt the taste of heaven shortly after.  
  
When Snape’s legs parted to allow him even closer, and trembling, lean arms embraced him in return.


	7. Chapter 7

_The rain has gone away…  
_

_***_  
  
So this is how it ends, he mused absently as he took a short break from packing his belongings scattered about his quarters. So far he had already filled two trunks, and was three-quarters of his way through the third one. Incredible, the number of items he had accumulated in just a few short months here, when he had arrived with a trunk barely half full as testimony to more than a decade of roaming the earth. It reflected just how much he had settled in here, the degree to which he had truly considered it home.  
  
He had not been really surprised, and in truth, could barely summon the outrage he ought to have felt, upon learning that he had been denounced to the world, and by his lover – ex-lover now, he supposed – no less, even if that particular piece of information was privy only to a very select few. It seemed like the wheels of fate had been set irrevocably turning from the instant he’d glimpsed Harry and his friends disappearing through the Whomping Willow.  
  
He had always been one to let gut instinct guide him in times of danger. And that innate sense had seen him down the tunnel and out the other end in time to confront Sirius and Peter. Thankfully in time to discover a truth that had been concealed for far too many years, and at such terrible cost.  
  
Ironically, he would always remember that point in time, when the truth was revealed, as one of the happiest moments of his life – a single pinprick of brilliance amidst all the choking darkness. His trust in Sirius had not been misplaced after all, and as he embraced his brother-in-all-but-name with utter relief, he had sensed part of his world’s foundations set aright again.  
  
That is, until he heard Snape’s voice, vengeful and petty, laced with an utter disappointment that no one but him could discern. His blood had run cold, and events jus went irreversibly downhill from there.  
  
He had made a passable attempt at remaining relatively indifferent when Snape was knocked out, but all that occupied his mind as they made that interminable journey back to Hogwarts via the passage to the Whomping Willow was Snape’s low voice the fateful night he had finally allowed Lupin back into his life. It weighed heavily upon him, twisting his heart with every step.  
  
Lupin’s hands clenched tight, as he relived the memories, and he had to force himself to loosen his convulsive grip around the wooden bedpost, lest he accidentally snap it in two. He flopped back on the bed and stared desultorily up at the hangings, the position mirroring the one he had assumed years ago after the first incident at the Shrieking Shack, that had ended up with him in roughly the same situation – Snape-less, and feeling like he had been tossed out into the cold.  
  
He closed his eyes, and it seemed like he could almost hear the soft, velvet-dark tones.  
  
  
***  
  
  
 _“Don’t deny me again, Remus.”_  
  
The only condition offered for the opportunity to once again touch nirvana. But implicit it was also a warning, to not break his trust once more, and his heart along with it. The intensity in the other man’s face as he looked up at him told Lupin there would be no further chances. The fact that he was even willing to concede this time was miracle enough.  
  
There will be no better time than this, he thought as he drank in Snape’s features, mind a little dazed at his sudden nearness after aeons of being so far away. He tilted his head, and gradually leaned in, half-marvelling at the fact that he was able to do so, until tentatively, their lips met. Whisper-soft. Gentle. Careful.  
  
It had been barely a second, yet when they parted, he felt breathless, the speed of the blood raging in this veins way out of proportion to the apparent amount of exertion. But he knew, as he was sure Snape was aware, how hard it had been, to meet across the years and the enmity.  
  
Snape’s arms were still upon his shoulders, and he savoured their warm weight, as well as the pleasurable sensation of fingers lightly caressing his spine. He looked up to meet Snape’s eyes and it seemed to him that there was a light within them that he had not seen those past months he had been at Hogwarts. He just had to taste the inexplicable sweetness of the dark-haired man’s mouth again, this time applying a bit more pressure to deepen the kiss.  
  
Before letting the words leave his lips. This he could say, agonised over and rehearsed a million times in his dreams and solitude. “Never again, Severus.” He cupped the pale, sallow cheek, letting his thumb stroke the sharp cheekbone softly. “Never again, as long as I can ask the same of you.” He still had enough residual pride and stubbornness to expect a reasonably fair exchange before he would acquiesce – mind, body and soul.  
  
He thought he felt Snape stiffening tightly at this, but it was gone so swiftly that he attributed the mild tension to his imagination.  
  
“Fair enough,” Snape muttered – reluctantly? – as he withdrew his arms, but Lupin caught his hands before they could retreat entirely, drawing the Slytherin up and out of his armchair. Gripping Snape’s hands firmly, he tugged and manoeuvred the other man across the room to where the bed was waiting invitingly.  
  
He tried not to think too hard or analyse Snape’s sudden compliance. It wouldn’t do to lose his nerve at a time like this. He would take what he could get.  
  
  
***  
  
He opened his eyes again, grimacing as he realised that the images within his mind’s eye had left him half-hard and wanting. Sighing softly, he forced himself to recollect Snape’s betrayed visage a few nights ago, and the flood of guilt and pain that swamped him erased any hint of arousal that he might have had.  
  
Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the bed and headed to the stacks of books he was supposed to sort through next. With another pang, it struck him that a number of them had been borrowed from Snape, or left here by the Potions Master, the few times he had agreed to spend the night up here instead of their usual rendezvous down in the freezing dungeons.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he settled down beside the pile. One thing at a time, he instructed his wandering mind sternly. First we sort them out, then we panic over how to give them back.  
  
He was halfway through his self-appointed task, and had achieved a considerable degree of calm when he heard a knock upon the door. Thinking it was Harry or Dumbledore, or one of the meagre few who still did not shun him, he called out, “Come in! Door’s not locked.”  
  
The door opened, and as it swung forward, it was as if the temperature within the room had taken a sudden dip. He froze, not daring to turn around for fear that he was mistaken, yet scarcely believing that it could be who he thought it was. _Knew_ it was.  
  
“Remus.”  
  
Just one word. But such a word. A mere five letters, two syllables, conveying layers of hidden meaning, subtle nuances that could send the listener to heaven or hell.  
  
Snape had always been a master of that.  
  
There was much that he heard in the Slytherin’s voice that he didn’t understand, but the very least he could detect was the lack of anger, scorn, or any trace of resentment. As encouraged as he was perplexed, he steeled himself and looked over his shoulder to see the black-robed figure hovering just beyond the threshold of the half-opened door, his entire posture indicating like he would bolt at any moment.  
  
“Ah… please, come in.” The invitation slipped out before Lupin’s mind could properly register it, as if his subconscious was afraid that Snape would flee if he delayed any longer.  
  
The Potions Master pushed the door open further and glided in, coming to a stop near one of the armchairs by the fireplace, but not sitting down. “I…” He bit off the rest of his speech, arms folded protectively in front of his chest. It seemed like something was tearing him up inside, and he appeared more awkward than Lupin could remember seeing him.  
  
“Severus, sit down.” Surprisingly, Snape obeyed without comment, sinking heavily into the seat. Lupin settled himself upon the opposite armchair before quietly asking, “What is it?”  
  
Instantly, Snape stiffened and the tension within the room shot up to the point where Lupin hardly thought he could move. Frustrated, he bit his lip, running through the possible explanations why the other man would have come peaceably into his rooms, and hitting a blank. Apart from one ludicrous, impossible reason.  
  
The Slytherin just sat there for the longest time, not saying anything, not meeting his gaze. It was beginning to worry Lupin, and intrigue him as well – it wasn’t remarkable for the other man to avoid his eyes, he often did that when he was pretending to ignore the werewolf. But now, it was as if Snape was… afraid to speak.  
  
Finally, Lupin decided he would attempt to say something, if Snape was determined to stay silent. He was gearing up for his apology – not that it would have changed anything – when he heard something that nearly shocked him out of his seat.  
  
“I’m sorry, Remus.” The slow whisper of words coming from Snape’s lips was a shout into the sudden vacuum stillness of the room.  
  
After a full minute, he managed to get his jaw working, stammering past his astonishment. “W-what did you say?”  
  
Snape’s head whipped up and he glared at Lupin, eyes flashing. “Do not expect me to repeat myself!”  
  
He nearly sighed in relief. This was more like the Severus he was accustomed to. But as soon as the thought came, whatever had been bothering the man seemed to reassert itself, and he quickly lowered his gaze again.  
  
Maybe he just had to wait until the Potions Master made up his mind to speak, Lupin thought, as he leaned back in his chair. Meanwhile, he would just content himself with drinking in his fill of Snape, memorising the features to tide him through the inevitable isolation that would come. The dark-haired man had managed to come through the confrontation with Sirius and Peter relatively unscathed, but there was a haunted cast to his face, as if whatever he was thinking of plagued him constantly without reprieve.  
  
He wondered if it would help if he was nearer to Snape, to reassure the other man with his touch, and let him know that whatever horrors he faced, there would always be someone to see it through with him. Leaning forward, he reached out and took hold of one thin hand twisting itself into the black cloth.  
  
Snape stilled at that, but did not pull away. After a while, he finally looked up, a fatalistic conviction in his eyes that Lupin did not understand. “Forgive me, Remus. I did what I had to do. It will be better this way.”  
  
More confused than ever, Lupin tightened his grip on Snape’s hand, lest he pulled loose and disappear. “What do you mean?”  
  
Now that he had begun, the other man appeared to become calmer. Slowly, gracefully, he used free hand to roll the sleeve of his robe up past his left forearm, revealing the ugly, sinister mark branded upon the pale skin. Lupin shivered, as the malevolent eyes in the death-head seemed to glare back at him. The dark, rich tones of Snape’s voice drew him out of his morbid reverie. “Just let me explain this first. You are aware that I was once a Death Eater?”  
  
Lupin nodded, not trusting himself to speak as the age-old regret reared its head within him again, making him speculate if he could have averted the Slytherin’s slide into darkness if they had stayed together. With an effort, he shook off the futile emotion and concentrated on the sound of Snape speaking.  
  
“And while serving the Dark Lord, I also served Dumbledore as a spy, which was why I escaped being sent to Azkaban after Voldemort was defeated the first time.”  
  
Lupin nodded again. He knew all of this, if but vaguely – he had been away for that stretch of years, still trying to come to terms with the wolf within and the fact that he could never have what he craved. Ever since his return to this part of the world and Hogwarts, bits and pieces of information had passed by him, enough that he believed he had a pretty clear picture of events surrounding the end of the previous war. At least he thought he could understand why most people, apart from the Slytherins, were the way they were around the Potions Master. The stigma of having once touched darkness was not easily cleansed, and the stain clung tenaciously, even long after the tainting.  
  
Fingers wrapped around his own as Snape’s hand, which had lain dormant within his, suddenly came to life. He sensed that they were building up to something, and felt suddenly nervous.  
  
“All that I’ve said so far it common knowledge, but the rest of what I will tell you is secret to but the barest few. But I want you to know. You deserve that much, at least.”  
  
The intensity of emotion behind the words disturbed him, and he shifted uneasily in his seat. Snape appeared not to notice, caught up in his own internal struggles.  
  
“I’ve never stopped.”  
  
For a few seconds, the cryptic phrase resounded within the confines of his brain. And then suddenly, it all came to him in a flash.  
  
Jerking, he tried to move away, but Snape’s hold had become like iron, and he was reluctant to hurt the man just to release himself, even in light of what he had suddenly learnt.  
  
“Listen, you fool!” The annoyed hiss stopped him in his tracks. “I’ve never stopped being either!”  
  
Which meant… “You—you’re still a spy?”  
  
This time it was Snape’s turn to nod, and add a snarky “Ten points to Gryffindor, Professor”. Lupin slumped back in the chair, shock making him limp.  
  
“This is why I had to do what I did. Voldemort is coming back to power again. There is unrest among the remaining Death Eaters. I’m obviously not the in the best of the Dark Lord’s graces, considering my past actions, but I’m still valuable enough for him to want to keep me on a leash. Not to mention I’m in a prime position to feed him the information he desires.” The floodgates had opened, and Snape seemed determined to get it all out. “And Dumbledore knows that.”  
  
He spent a few minutes absorbing the implications of the other’s little speech. “So… you have been going back to the Death Eaters?”  
  
“Not yet, but it appears that time is approaching,” Snape replied flatly.  
  
Discomfited by Lupin’s searching gaze, he tried to stand and leave, but a blur of motion from the werewolf left him pinned in his seat, with Lupin looming over him, hands firmly grasping his shoulders. A sudden realisation had just come.  
  
“You did this on purpose, to send me away, didn’t you?!”  
  
Snape met his blazing glare serenely, and for the first time since he had come, the barest smile graced his lips. “I’m glad you finally understand, Remus. And now that the purpose of my visit is done, you could let me up so I might be—mmph!” He was abruptly cut off as Lupin kissed him, hard and urgently.  
  
When they finally parted for air, Lupin found himself straddling Snape’s thighs and the Slytherin’s arms wrapped across his back. Breathless, Lupin brought their foreheads together. “You’re impossible! I thought – I thought you pushed me away because I broke our promise.”  
  
One hand came up to play with the tiny hairs at the back of Lupin’s neck, making him shiver at the pleasure. “It was an unfair demand, for I could never have upheld my end of the bargain. Black’s appearance merely gave me the opportunity I was looking for, to carry out my plans.”  
  
Lupin swallowed audibly. “You mean you didn’t want me all along?” He found himself unable to keep the plaintive note out of his voice. A hard knot began forming in the pit of his stomach.  
  
“It’s safer that way. You do not have a true measure of what Voldemort can do, if he ever found out…” Lupin had never wished more fervently that he could obliterate that haunted light in those dark eyes. “It is better that you never know.”  
  
If he had any lingering doubts before this that Snape should not be his mate, they had all been swept away.  
  
“I will leave…” He thought he could have wept at the look of relief that passed over Snape’s features. “So that I may join the forces fighting against Voldemort as well.”  
  
“What?!” The disappointment upon the other man’s face would have crushed him if it were for anything other than this.  
  
“You can arrange for me to be thrown out of the school, Severus, but you can’t control what I do and where I go afterwards. What sort of man would I be if I ran and hid while the one I love risks his life daily?”  
  
Snape went still, looking up at him warily. “The one you love?”  
  
“Of course!” Lupin gently kissed the pale skin of his cheek. “Now who’s being the fool? Would I still come back for you after all these years if I didn’t love you?”  
  
For once, it appeared that the Potions Master would have no answer, aside from a gradual flush rising from the top of the collar of his robe. Instead, Lupin was crushed against the other’s lean frame as Snape buried his face in his neck.  
  
Then Snape’s lips moved, forming silent outlines against his skin, and Lupin smiled truly, from the heart, as the warm glow spread within him.  
  
  
***  
  
  
He stood upon the stone steps leading up to the castle entrance, waiting for the carriage that would take him to the Hogwarts Express, along with the other students returning home for the holidays. Only for him, there would be no coming back to reside within these protective walls.  
  
Dumbledore was next to him, along with Professor McGonagall, two of the precious few who had still stood by him after his secret had been exposed to the school population. It still chilled him – the capriciousness of human nature – but somehow, it didn’t bother him as much as it used to.  
  
“Take care, Remus. We hope to hear from you soon.” The Headmaster’s expression was serious, but he caught the knowing twinkle behind the half-moon glasses. “And we’ll keep an eye out for Severus, as always, won’t we, Minerva?”  
  
The Transfigurations Professor stepped forward to say her goodbyes as well, and not long after, the carriage arrived. He found himself giving one final wave before settling down for the short ride to the train station.  
  
Snape had not appeared, but they both knew he wouldn’t. It would have been contrary to all the Slytherin’s actions. They had bade each other farewell – a temporary farewell, Lupin reminded himself firmly – the night before, and he smiled in remembrance.  
  
It seemed like he was still destined to roam the earth, but this time with a sense of purpose, and he dared to hope that one day, when all of this was over…  
  
But in the meantime, he would leave, secure in the knowledge that he could keep going on. For now he finally had that which made it all worthwhile.  
  
That someone he had always desired, as essential.

***  
  
 _And I don’t mind your lies, so keep on talking._


End file.
